The Dilemma
by Katica Locke
Summary: Reese and Finch find an unusual way to make a difficult decision. One-shot, mild slashiness


**Author's Note:** Ever had a drunken plot-bunny run up and stab you in the ankle with a cocktail umbrella? That's how it felt when this wacky little one-shot popped into my head. I usually don't write much humor (smut is my genre of choice) but I thought it turned out pretty cute anyway.

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><p><strong>The Dilemma<strong>

Reese regarded Finch from across the desk, the other man sitting stiffly, his hands flat against the wooden surface, his resolve unwavering. Reese wasn't backing down, either, and they couldn't both have their way. This was the first time they had truly butted heads over something - while working a number, each recognized and deferred to the other's areas of expertise, but this was different.

"Any suggestions, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked.

Reese was about to ask if he wanted to flip a coin, but then he was struck by a sudden, crazy idea. "Actually, yeah." He walked around the desk, toward Finch, and the man's paranoia kicked in. He slid his chair back and stood, shoulders squared as though he expected their disagreement to end in a fistfight. Reese stopped just out of reach. "Have you ever played 'kiss chicken', Mr. Finch?"

Finch arched an eyebrow. "That's your solution? Chicken?"

"Not chicken," Reese said with a small smirk. "_Kiss_ chicken. It's simple. We act like we're going to kiss, moving closer and closer, and the first one to pull back loses." Reese had to struggle not to laugh at the deadpan stare that Finch gave him.

"Is this the sort of thing they taught you at the Agency?"

"No," Reese said, but he didn't elaborate.

"You do realize how ridiculous and immature that is, don't you? Why don't we just settle this over a game of _Chutes and Ladders_?"

"Do you have one?" Reese asked. Finch gave him a dark look and he laughed. "That's why. What's the matter, Finch - You've never done anything impulsive and immature just for the hell of it? Or is it because you know I'd win?"

"Like hell you would, Mr. Reese," Finch said coolly. He stiffened slightly when Reese took another step toward him, but he didn't back away. _Game on._ Reese leaned closer, his eyes half-closed, his gaze wandering over Finch's face, trying to unsettle the rigid man. Finch took a half-step forward, surprising Reese by lifting his chin slightly; Reese had honestly expected him to do nothing more than stand there. Reese shuffled closer, a small, nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach as they drew within inches of each other. Finch surprised him yet again - Reese had expected it be over before this. He tilted his head to one side, Finch to the other. He could feel the warmth of Finch's skin, smell his cologne, hear him breathing...

Their lips touched and Reese froze, so surprised that he almost pulled back, but he caught himself in time. For a moment, they just stood there.

"Any other bright ideas, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked, his words muffled as his lips moved against Reese's.

Reese was actually finding it difficult to construct a coherent thought. It wasn't often that anyone could truly surprise him. Finally, he said, "Agree to call it a tie?" That seemed the most logical solution.

"Agreed," Finch said and they parted, Reese for some reason out of breath when he stepped back. Finch was slightly flushed, but Reese had a feeling he wasn't the only one; the room had grown uncomfortably warm. They regarded each other for a moment, then Reese began searching his pockets for a quarter. "Do over?" Finch said suddenly.

Reese gave him a blank look. "I'm sorry; what?"

"If we're working according to schoolyard rules now, Mr. Reese," he said, a smugness in his tone, "then I think a do-over is warranted. Unless, of course, you've realized that you can't win."

Reese shifted his weight from one foot to the other. What was Finch playing at? Did he really think Reese would be so unsettled by what happened that he'd refuse the challenge? Reese gave him a crooked smile. "A do-over, then. No ties. No rules. Last man standing."

"Agreed," Finch said, still much too smug and confident for Reese's comfort. How did such an unimposing man manage to portray such strength and determination? Reese stepped toward him, going for a bolder approach. He reached up, slipping his fingers beneath Finch's tie and gently drawing his employer closer. To his surprise, Finch didn't resist. Reese leaned toward him and Finch met him halfway.

The stiff, tight lips he'd been expecting melted against his like fine chocolate and Reese had no choice but to reciprocate. He drew a startled breath as he felt Finch's tongue brush against his lower lip, his mind and heart starting to race. This didn't feel like a game anymore. His eyes slid closed and he kissed Finch, his mouth opening and their tongues tangling. Reese groaned low in his throat, his hand rising up to gently cup the back of Finch's neck. Finch tensed as Reese's fingers brushed over the ridge of scar tissue beneath the collar of his shirt, but he didn't pull away.

Reese felt lightheaded as they explored each other's mouths, Finch's arms sliding around his waist, their bodies pressing together. He faltered as something hard pressed against his groin, his brows knitting as he tried to think of what Finch might have in his pocket, because it couldn't possibly be what it felt like. He almost didn't notice when Finch's hand left the small of his back, but when said hand moved down to his ass and squeezed, that he did notice.

Reese jerked back, gasping for breath as he stared at a smirking Finch.

"Looks like I won, Mr. Reese," he said. "Chinese it is, and hurry back. There's nothing worse than cold eggrolls.


End file.
